The Hero
Bordering the local
football ground, young
mountain ash bend
in the cold wind.
Almost reaching to full height,
their lean, pliable trunks bow
and spring back,
whipping against the air.
Defiant, almost arrogant
they dance and swirl
their leaves like balls
of streamers waved
by frenzied fans.
Boyhood comes charging back
as I walk the boundary,
booted up and wearing
number twenty five.
I inhabited the hero,
rode wild applause
to the consummate ease
of my play and saw
my name bannered
in large print
across Sunday replays.
Imagination flew far above
my skill and as time
chastened dreams,
ambition retreated to a place
in a noisy crowd
carried along on the swells
of boisterous cheer,
or lounged in a chair
watching an ad riddled
game at home by myself
with a beer.
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